


no rules apply

by bravevulnerability



Category: Castle
Genre: Angst, F/M, Kink Meme, Romance, kink of the castle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1773151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravevulnerability/pseuds/bravevulnerability
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Yeah, Kate Beckett was definitely drunk.' A fill for the 2014 summer hiatus kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no rules apply

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the summer hiatus kink meme 2014
> 
> Set anytime post Headhunters (4x21) but before Undead Again (4x22)

* * *

Each insistently loud knock against his door had his irritation rising as he trudged from his office to the front door. Whoever had the audacity to show up at his home this late was lucky his mother and daughter were away for the night – Alexis with a friend, his mother… well, he wasn't positive where she was, but he didn't blame them. He wasn't much fun to be around lately, he wouldn't want to stick around the loft with his brooding self either.

Castle swung the door open, prepared to give whoever was on the other side a piece of his mind, but instead he was met with the sight of Kate Beckett looking stunning and unsteady in a familiar black dress he had hoped to never see again.

His eyes widened without his permission as he took in her attire – the strapless, floor-length gown clinging to her slim frame, leaving so much of her skin bare and unattended to. Just like before. She was less put together this time with her hair falling around her shoulders in waves and her makeup slightly smudged, but she looked no less exquisite. He may be angry with her, forcefully attempting to fall out of love with her, but he wasn't blind.

"What are you doing here, Beckett?" he asked, his tone remaining cold and unfriendly despite her appearance, and her face crumpled at the sound, her forehead dropping against the doorframe. Castle furrowed his brow at the behavior. She had yet to speak, but by the way she was swaying in her heels, he had an inkling… "Are you drunk?"

She huffed and lifted her head, stepped forward only to practically stumble into him.

"No," she waved him off, the action sending her precariously teetering to the side and Castle caught her by the elbows. "Maybe just a little," she conceded while her glassy eyes roamed the room until they successfully landed on him. She gripped his forearms a little too zealously and rocked forward on her toes. "Needed to talk to you."

Yeah, Kate Beckett was definitely drunk.

Castle rolled his eyes, really and truly not in the mood for this. He had dreamed of seeing Beckett under the influence in the past, maybe a little tipsy after sharing a few drinks with him at the Old Haunt, but that was back when he was still an oblivious idiot. And besides, he could see Beckett was far beyond tipsy as he led her to the couch – unwilling to send her back into the streets of New York City alone at midnight. This was a kind of intoxication he usually preferred not to witness.

"When I bought this dress," she slurred, a strange, wistful quality to her voice. "I thought of your face, what you'd think when you saw it."

Castle swallowed, attempting to ignore her, but she clung to his shoulders when they reached the couch, catching his t-shirt in her fingers and hauling herself closer, refusing to allow him to sit her down.

Kate lifted her chin, attempting to aim for his ear when she whispered, "I wondered what it would be like if you took it off me."

Fuck.

Castle closed his eyes to keep his composure in check as he took a step back from her. It did little good, she continued to hang on him, but she did loosen her grip and it gave him a moment to slow his stupid, racing heart.

Her eyebrows scrunched as she stared at her own fingers, slipping them down to rest at his chest, one palm over his heart.

"Supposed to be mine," she grumbled, pushing her thumb into the bones of his sternum, the same bones straining to protect his heart from her, and circling there. "Too complicated though, hmm?"

He wasn't even sure what she was talking about, half of her words jumbled, the rest nonsensical. But he had an idea of what she meant and he spoke when he knew he shouldn't have.

"Not yours," he said anyway, wishing she would just stop touching him, stop burning him with memories of what her touch felt like. "Never yours. You don't want it."

Her head lifted and she stared up at him accusingly, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head at an angle as if trying to decipher him and his words like a mystery.

"I wanted you. I thought…"

Her sentence went unfinished and then she was sad again, her face wilting and her eyes fluttering back to linger on her own hands.

He had honestly expected Kate to be a happy drunk, that was how he would have written her, but she was the opposite of happy. A little less inhibited, yes, a little more giving in what exactly was going through her head, but otherwise, miserable. Despite his own misery, he greatly disliked seeing her in the same light.

"I miss you, Castle," she sighed and he hated that her intoxicated little admission made him feel guilty. She was the one who had lied, the one who didn't love him back. He had no reason to feel the weight of remorse just because he had stepped away to shadow someone else. He deserved some reprieve from the heartache of seeing her every day, of pretending his love for her was just gone. But she was looking at him with downturned lips and wounded eyes, like he was the one punishing her and that wasn't what he was doing. He was just… it was all fair play.

Castle attempted a deep breath, cursing himself for it when he inhaled the scent of her. He would make sure she was okay for the night and tomorrow they would just pretend she was never here. They would never speak of it, because that always worked so well for them, right?

"Listen Beckett, just sit down for a little while, I'll make you a coffee, help sober you up, and then I'll call you a cab."

"Nooo," she moaned, dropping her head to his chest and Castle stiffened, his hands still hovering at her elbows and unsure where to go. Part of him wanted to push her off of him, or at least untangle her arms from around his neck, but the other wanted to hold her close and never let her go. He wished he didn't have to let her go. "Don't send me away."

He pursed his lips, but shook his head against the reassurance bubbling on his tongue. This was just drunk talk; she probably had no idea what she was even saying. She didn't want him, didn't need him, only used him.

Castle reached around to the back of his neck, found her hands and carefully extracted them from his t-shirt, took a step back once she was no longer huddled against him.

"It'll be okay," he told her calmly, smoothing one of his thumbs along the sharp bone of her wrist even though it was against the new set of rules in his head. Don't touch her. "You'll be okay."

He moved to turn away, to retreat into his office and find his phone, but Kate's fingers snagged in his shirt again and the coffee table knocked into his shin when he jerked, and then she was toppling onto the couch and bringing him down with her and so much for no touching.

"Beckett," he grunted, landing on his ass with her practically on top of him so that they were awkwardly tangled. She had one of his arms trapped underneath her ribs and when he tried to free the limb, he glanced over at her, saw her dress had slipped just slightly, and she hadn't bothered to put makeup on the scar between her breasts this time.

He forced himself to look away, but the puckered flesh lingered, tattooed on the backs of his eyelids, flashing in his mind every time he blinked. He could hear Kate sigh, felt her determinedly heaving herself up into a sitting position beside him.

"Castle," she murmured gently, her words still infused with liquid courage, but genuinely apologetic nonetheless. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean – I don't know why I came over here in this stupid dress."

"To torture me," he muttered jokingly, but there was no humor in it and even in her inebriated state, she didn't laugh.

Her hand settled on his chest, her forehead knocked into his jaw, and he was too tired, too drained to make an attempt at moving her. And he couldn't deny it felt nice, like he had always imagined it would, especially when she opened her mouth over the skin of his throat and-

Oh no, no, no - this broke all the rules. Big time.

"Kate," he protested, pushing his fists into the leather of the couch cushions, prepared to propel himself up and away from her, but she closed her hand around his thigh, experimentally trailed her fingers higher…

"Beckett," he warned again, but she only smiled wickedly against his neck and let her hands grow more insistent in their exploration.

"Help sober me up," she murmured into his skin, purposely grazing her teeth over the swelling tendon in his neck.

He squirmed, but it failed to deter her fingers from slipping past the waistband of his pajama bottoms, tracing the shape of him through his boxers while the other spanned over his chest, coasting up and down his ribs in a way he never imagined would be so maddening.

He was blinking furiously to keep his eyes from slamming closed, but then she disappeared from his side and his head swiveled towards her in confusion. But she was no longer beside him, no longer on the couch. She was on the ground, settled between his knees and tugging his bottoms down.

This could not be happening.

"Kate," he snapped sharply, but it didn't even seem to affect her, not at all. She jerked his pants down, took his boxers with them, and wrapped her fingers around his already hardened length. "Stop, stop - Beckett, you need to - you can't-"

"Shh," she shushed him loudly, batting at his hand when it moved to her shoulder. "Let me. Just let me."

He let her. And he hated himself for it. But he couldn't help groaning at the feel of her wet, warm mouth suddenly closing around his tip. His head fell back against the couch at the tease of a touch just as she drew away, curling her fingers around his base and trailing her tongue up the length of his erection, watching him the entire time.

"You still want me to leave, Castle?" she husked, her hot breath coating him and he had to grit his teeth hard.

Her mouth enveloped him again before he could even consider an answer, engulfing him in heat and erasing his mind of everything else except the feel of her lips and the liquid fire shooting up his spine. Her hands slid up his bare thighs, nails raking lightly over his skin, before abandoning them to coil her fingers around the white knuckled fists he still had pressed to the couch. Her thumbs smoothed over the insides of his wrists rhythmically, reminded him to breathe even as she hummed and scraped and seared with her teeth and her tongue.

She released him with a purposeful pop of her mouth, stared up at him with dark, hazy eyes. "Has anyone else's mouth been on you lately, Rick?"

He was tempted to haul her upwards, pin her body into the leather and discover all the ways to make her scream, but he merely caught the fingers stroking along his knuckles, squeezed them too tightly.

"It's none of your concern," he growled and she laughed, a hollow, bitter thing that caused the gold flecks in her eyes to flare.

"It is now."

The ends of her hair tickled his thighs when she lowered her head once more, her gaze remaining piercing on his, daring him to break eye contact with her. The thorough twist of her tongue, the sudden touch of her fingers fondling his balls, the low moan she released around him as he shallowly thrust his hips - it was all too much. He had expected it to be sloppy, messy and uncoordinated, but her mouth moved with graceful skill that had him seeing stars far too quickly and his eyes flickered shut as he spilled inside her mouth moments later. He felt her swallow, her throat working against him before her lips slid away.

He didn't want to look at her when he could finally see straight again, the shame heavy and all consuming as it chased away the pleasure, but Kate crawled onto his lap, sat back on his knees with her dress pushed up and stretched taut across her thighs so she could straddle him. She appeared a little more with it, still swaying slightly, but the intoxicated sheen in her eyes had mostly cleared. Somehow, that made this entire situation worse.

"No one else," he sighed, giving in and skimming his index finger along the creamy silk of her inner thigh. "I can't want anyone else."

"Me either," she whispered, but he scoffed.

"I'm not the first person you've worn this dress for."

She caught his sweeping finger, gripped his hand and guided it between her legs, allowing him to feel the soaked state of her underwear, the smeared evidence on her thighs.

Her voice was rough when she spoke, "I never stained my dress for him. For anyone else."

Castle experimentally pushed the satin strip of her underwear aside, glided a single finger through the sticky pool of her arousal and watched her face as her cheeks instantly flushed, her lips parting and her eyes struggling to remain focused. It was almost enough to convince him.

But he needed more, he needed words.

He jerked her forward by the hip with his free hand, pulled her close enough that their lips just barely touched and all that naked skin her dress left uncovered was pressed against him.

"You better be in this," he warned her with a growl. "This isn't some game-"

"No, no, not a game," she insisted vehemently, her hands rising to cradle his jaw. "Never a game. So much more."

"You're damn right it is." He found the zipper in the back of her dress, drew it downwards until the fabric crumpled and loosened from around her frame. "Because getting over you isn't working and you can't just show up here-"

"Don't get over me," she pleaded, clawing frantically at his t-shirt again, pushing the material up his abdomen. "I can't - you can't-"

His hands skated up her back, cradled her head in his palms and sealed her mouth to his. Her body seemed to deflate with it, calming against his as she kissed him back, moaning into his mouth and letting him taste the final traces of himself on her tongue.

"Get this off," he grumbled, his fingers drowning in the velvety fabric of her dress in their attempt to remove it.

Kate eased off his lap, stood between his knees and let the dress slither down her body until it pooled on the floorboards at her feet, until she was left in only her panties and a strapless black bra. She reached for his hands, but he was already lifting from the couch, cupping the bared bones of her hips in his palms when he stood in front of her, before grazing his fingers up the path of her abdomen to the marred skin between her breasts.

He felt her swallow, her heart picking up speed beneath the calloused pads of his fingertips.

"I love you back," she told him steadily, curling her hands at his biceps. "I don't know if you still-"

He surged forward to kiss her hard, swallow the words she whispered over and over again. He was still wary of her and how meaningful all that had happened between them tonight was to her, but he let himself soak in her words, let them elicit fireworks in the cold, dark cavern of his chest.

"You'd better remember all of this in the morning too," he said as he began walking her backwards towards the bedroom.

Kate sighed contently against his ear before nipping teasingly at the soft cartilage. "Not that drunk, Castle."

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: Sober Castle, drunk Beckett. Beckett gets handsy when she's been drinking. Castle hates himself for it but doesn't stop her. Ends with her sucking him off. Bonus points if set post Limey.


End file.
